


What Came Of Copper

by ladysassafrass



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Djinni & Genies, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7663027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysassafrass/pseuds/ladysassafrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You summoned me.”<br/>“Pardon?”</p><p>Inspired by Neil Gaiman’s short story “The October Tale.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Came Of Copper

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [isitthattimealready](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isitthattimealready/pseuds/isitthattimealready) for beta-reading.

 

Bilbo finally noticed the man in the room as he was closing up shop. A fan of horror stories and accustomed to being alone, he yelped like a startled bat.

“Sorry,” said Bilbo, as he was wont to do when startled. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Yes,” replied the man, his voice like distant cannon fire. He sat in a purple velvet armchair in the far corner of the shop, in between two glass-door cabinets full of old bric-a-brac. The chair, like everything else in the shop save the register and Bilbo himself, was for sale. It didn’t occur to Bilbo to chide the man for sitting upon merchandise. The man seemed made for the shadows, his very air as old and burnished as the chair he sat in.

“Right, well,” said Bilbo. “I’m terribly sorry, but the shop’s closed now. You can come back in the morning if you so please.”

“You summoned me.”

“Pardon?”

The man inclined his head and pointed his gaze towards the counter. A subtle gesture, but Bilbo followed the gaze as if he’d been guided by a steel hand. There sat a copper tea kettle. An old friend named Gandalf had brought it in that very morning. Bilbo had been polishing it idly half an hour ago while waiting for closing time to come. (It had been a particularly slow afternoon.) “You rubbed the lamp and so summoned me,” explained the man.

“Lamp,” Bilbo repeated.

“Tis the name you mortals give to a vessel which a djinn occupies, is it not?”

“Djinn,” Bilbo repeated.

The man sighed aloud. “Genie, in the cruder tongue.”

“Ah, right.” The words rolled off Bilbo’s tongue automatically, but as soon as they did, he was struck with their meaning. His eyes grew round, his mouth dry, and his jaw slack. “So, you’re a genie, then.”

“I prefer ‘djinn’.” The man stood and took measured steps towards Bilbo, so as to avoid frightening him, perhaps. (It didn’t work.) The man’s eyes were pale blue fire, sharp and dangerous. His hair was black and heavy and fell upon powerful shoulders on which a deep blue tunic hung. A thick beard framed a thin mouth. “Genies are children’s toys to be used and tossed. I am a being of immense power and wisdom. I demand to be treated as such.”

“U-Understood.” Bilbo gulped. “I’m so- sorry. I honestly- I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t,” agreed the man- djinn, though his eyes did lose some of their ferocity.

They stood there for a moment in charged silence. Then Bilbo said in a cracked whisper, “I’ll finish locking up then.” He did just that, flipping the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’, turning off all the lights, grabbing his bag and jacket, and locking his office. His neck hair prickled the whole time. He had never closed up with another person in the shop and he felt as though his every action were under weighty scrutiny. After he put on his jacket, he realized he was right. 

“Um,” said Bilbo, at a complete loss. The man-djinn-thing watched him, still and silent, waiting. “Would you like to come up then? To my flat.”

The man-djinn frowned.

“So we can discuss this,” babbled Bilbo. “Where you’ll go now. Should I bring the kettle- erm, lamp with me? Can you leave the room without it?”

“You are my master now,” said the man-djinn, still frowning. He crossed his arms, revealing a thick muscled form the likes of which Bilbo had never seen, muscles of a life of a bygone age. “I go where you go.”

“No, no, no, I’m not anyone’s master.” The word alone gave him a shudder. “This is all just a misunderstanding. I rubbed the kettle by accident.”

“Nonetheless,” mumbled the djinn, “I am now bound to you by laws more ancient than I, whether you like it or not. And no, I do not need that kettle“ - his brow twitched at the word - “to proceed.” 

The djinn seemed irritated, but not nearly as irritated as Bilbo. He made a mistake, he had apologized, but the problem would not go away. It wouldn’t go away for all eternity, it seemed. Or at least for the rest of his life. “Fine, just- very well then,” he said a manic wave of his hands. “I'll just finish locking up.”

He stalked towards the shop door, keys gripped in hand, not looking over his shoulder to see if the djinn followed. When he heard no noise, he turned around and squawked. The djinn was standing mere inches from. Truly he stood not a finger’s width taller than Bilbo, but the shopkeeper felt as though he were looking at a mountain. His keys slipped from his hand and were caught mid-descent by the djinn. He held them out to Bilbo, who took them after a moment’s pause. His heart flutters like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I frighten you,” said the djinn in a low voice once Bilbo had locked the front door.

“No. Well, just a little. I’m not used to company when I lock up.”

The streets were quiet, but in the afternoon light, the djinn looked even more odd in the modern world. Bilbo would already get notice for bringing a man back to his flat, but these clothes would gather stares, perhaps even questions. _Just a genie I summoned today from a kettle, that’s all_ , would not go over very well with customers.

“What bothers you now?” asked the djinn in his echoing, mystical voice clearly impatient. 

“Nothing, nothing, just keep your voice down,” said Bilbo hurriedly. “You stand out enough as it is.”

The djinn raised an eyebrow, seeming to take offense.

“I’m sorry, but you look like you came from a ren faire, and people will stare.”

Now the djinn seemed to understand. “My appearance is out-of-place.”

 _Your whole being is out-of-place_ , Bilbo thought. “Yes, but I don’t know of any shops nearby, or any barbershops. Oh dear, this is a bother. Well, it’s not, if those are the only clothes you have. Are they-?”

The djinn was not paying attention. He peered out the window and spied a man walking on the other side of the street barking into a cell phone. The man wore a button-down shirt, pressed trousers, and Oxfords and his hair was closely cut. In a blink, the djinn’s clothes morphed into a similar outfit and his long hair receded into his head until it was of a similar style. The beard disappeared as well. “Will this satisfy?” rumbled the djinn.

Bilbo blinked twice, coughed once. “Y-Yes, very, um, satisfied,” he said. “The, um, you didn’t need to- the beard was fine, if you prefer to have it.”

The djinn said nothing, but the beard returned. His face gave away little, but something there seemed to relax. “By your leave then,” he said after a moment when Bilbo had forgotten how to move.

Bilbo blinked, then nodded quickly and did his very best not to stare over his shoulder as he walked up the dark stairs to his flat.

 

“This is quite good,” said the djinn, once they had settled into the sitting nook with a full teapot, two cups of tea, and a plate of chocolate digestives. 

“Thank you,” replied Bilbo. He knew it was good. If there were two things he knew at all, it was old things and tea. He took as much time in ordering his tea as he did his wares, and prepared the drink with equal care. But earning the praise of an ancient being was still flattering. Then again, when Bilbo had run through the list of all the teas he had to offer, the djinn had blinked and suggested slowly that Bilbo choose. He’d gone with Earl Grey, his usual afternoon choice. “Care for some more?”

“No, thank you, this will suffice,” said the djinn. He paused. “If you have any more of the, erm, biscuits though-“

“Of course,” said Bilbo automatically, even though these digestives were his favorite and the djinn had already eaten six.

“My thanks,” said the djinn when Bilbo returned with a freshly stocked plate. “A thousand years of dormancy can make one quite peckish.”

“A thousand years,” repeated Bilbo, a bit breathless. 

“1,379, and a half, to be precise” said the djinn. 

Bilbo blinked. “But how do you know?”

“Know what?”

“Know how many years, exactly, it’s been since you’ve been…out.”

The djinn frowned. “I am in tune with the earth itself. I feel its rotation, its shifting position in the universe. I feel the very cosmos around me. My power is beyond anything you can hope to imagine. A snap of my fingers, and I can fulfill anything your heart dare desire, your mind dare dream. The time and date are no feat.”

Bilbo frowned. “Right.” A being of immense power and wisdom, sitting across from him in his flat and demolishing his chocolate biscuits.

“Which brings me to our next order of business.” The djinn set down his cup and looked at Bilbo, his eyes fiery and firm as ever. Bilbo could not help but freeze under their gaze. “As a djinn in your service, I can grant you three wishes. Three wishes only, so don’t go asking for more wishes or any of that nonsense. Save for that, you may wish for whatever your heart desires. Anything, without reason or sensibility. I have the power to make your wildest dreams come true.”

Bilbo sat still for a while. The djinn waited, watching him all the while. Minutes passed like hours. Finally Bilbo broke the silence. “You sure you don’t want more tea?”

The djinn blinked. “No, thank you.”

Bilbo shrugged and poured another cupful for himself.

“You’d like to think over your first wish then.”

“No, actually. I’m good.”

“Then let us hear it: your first wish. Anything you desire.”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

The djinn stared at him. Bilbo sipped his tea in contented silence. Once he was finished, he took the empty cups and plate into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. When he returned to the sitting room, the djinn was still staring at him.

“Perhaps you don’t understand,” said the djinn once Bilbo settled back down in his armchair. “Anything you can imagine, I can make true. I can make you rich beyond measure, powerful beyond imagination. I can make you immortal, invulnerable. I can give you wings - literally, if you’d like. You could have a string of palaces, a mountain of gold- no, ten mountains-”

“No, I get along quite well, thank you.”

“But what if you never have to work again? You could spend the rest of your life in the grandest leisure.”

Bilbo snorted. “And the greatest boredom. I like my shop, thank you, and if one day I don’t anymore, I’ll find something else.”

The djinn scratched his beard, his brow furrowed. “Books then.” He gestured at the bookshelves that lined every spare wall in Bilbo’s small flat. “Ask and I can give you all the books you could desire. The grandest library in the world, with every book in the world, all yours.”

Bilbo snorted again. “I’ve barely finished half of these, as it is. Really, thank you for your offer, I’m quite good. Would you be alright with chicken for dinner?”

The djinn now openly gawped at the shopkeeper. “I- Yes, fine.”

“I’ll put it on then.” And Bilbo shuffled away, a small smile coming to his lips when his back was turned to the djinn.

 

“This just cannot be,” blurted out the djinn over dinner. “You have to desire something. Everyone desires something.”

“I’ve got all I need,” said Bilbo. “Would you pass the salt?”

“Ah, but you’re alone,” said the djinn once they had finished. “I can give you the most perfect companion. A beautiful woman and wife to love you ardently for the rest of your life. Accomplished, brilliant… good in bed. A harem of women, if you would like.”

“I wouldn’t, actually.”

The djinn blinked. “A man, then?”

Bilbo smiled over the sink as he washed the dishes.

“I apologize. The most handsome man, the most perfect husband, all yours in a moment. You just have to wish.”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Could you put these away? The cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

After they put away the dishes together, Bilbo proposed they go for a walk. They strolled around the nearby park in silence, the djinn taking in the new world, Bilbo humming softly to himself.

“What if you could have the greatest musician, the best bands in the world at your beck and call?”

“Thank you, no.”

The djinn let out a strangled noise. Bilbo barely contained his laugh.

Once they had finished their walk, Bilbo was ready to retire for the night. He showed the djinn to a guest room, its bed covered with a floral spread and its curtains old and musty. “I could give you the most luxurious bed. Sheets of thousand-thread cotton, pillows of the finest silk.”

“That won’t be necessary. Do you need pajamas?”

“Pajamas?”

“Clothes to sleep in,” Bilbo explained.

“Oh. No.” As Bilbo turned to leave his guest, the djinn grabbed his wrist. It was a light hold, but Bilbo felt every touch burn into his skin. “But I don’t understand. Why do you not have a wish?”

“I have everything I need.”

“But that’s not possible.”

“It is, I assure you.”

The djinn knit his thick brows together. Bilbo wet his lips self-consciously.

“Would you tell me your name?”

The djinn blinked. “Is that your wish?”

Bilbo gave a grumbling sigh. “No, no wishes. Just, what should I call you?”

The djinn looked at him for a good long time. “You may call me Thorin.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo tasted the name on his tongue. Fitting. “My name’s Bilbo Baggins. Goodnight.”

“Far from it,” replied Thorin with a scowl, but he released Bilbo’s wrist.

 

It took a week before Thorin stopped asking every one of Bilbo’s questions if that was his wish, and a month before he dropped the question of wishes altogether. Sometimes the djinn would stay in Bilbo’s flat, sometimes he’d follow Bilbo to the antique shop, where he proved quite helpful in assessing the value of a number of wares. He only once explored the city on his own, and grew so flustered and frustrated that when Bilbo returned home, he found the djinn pacing the sitting room and literally sizzling with rage. (Bilbo learned that djinns’ true selves were made of a smokeless and scorching fire, not unlike the stars.)

To his neighbors, Bilbo introduced Thorin as a flatmate. To his customers, Bilbo introduced him as an assistant. He was not wrong on either count, but they did not sum up the entirety of their relationship, djinn and master aside.

 

One morning, Thorin heard Bilbo take a call and then return to his bedroom to weep. Thorin waited a long while, and when Bilbo did not come out, he entered the bedroom. Bilbo lay on the bed, curled into himself, his eyes red and his nose runny. Thorin brought Bilbo a tissue box from the bathroom.

“Thank you,” mumbled Bilbo. His nose made a loud honk as he blew into a tissue.

“What is wrong?” asked Thorin.

Bilbo did not reply right away. “It’s…my cousin, Drogo. He- he and his w-wife.”

A fresh wave of sobs came over Bilbo. Thorin knelt on the floor beside the bed and waited. “They were on v-vacation,” continued Bilbo in between choked tears, “in the L-Lakes District. Took a boat out and, and- They didn’t- Frodo, their son- He’s only five. He lived, but- but his parents-”

Thorin, an immortal being of immense power and wisdom, took hold of Bilbo’s hand and said in the utmost earnestness, “I’m sorry.”

And Bilbo cried even harder. He clenched Thorin’s hand with enough force to break it if Thorin were not what he was. Bilbo cried and cried, until the day passed into night and his body had ran out of tears to shed.

It was then that Thorin decided to say what he had thought all day to say. “You know, I could… if you wish it.”

Bilbo’s red-ringed eyes widened in the dark. His body began to shake. “Get out.”

Thorin paused.

“Get out right now.”

And the djinn was gone before Bilbo could blink, dissolving into the air.

 

The next morning, a groggy-eyed Bilbo had just sat down to breakfast when a knock came at the door.

It was Thorin, as stiff and impassive as the day they met, but not quite bold enough to meet Bilbo’s eyes. “I- May I come in?”

Bilbo, after a sigh, stepped aside.

As soon as he stepped inside, Thorin added, “I offended you yesterday.”

Bilbo nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

As Bilbo turned away, Thorin put his hand on his shoulder. Light as a touch of silk. “Truly, I am sorry.”

He looked up. Thorin’s eyes of fire met his, earnest and possibly pleading. “I’m sorry, Bilbo.”

Bilbo wondered if he was supposed to be hearing a different three-word phrase in the djinn’s words.

“Come have eggs,” said Bilbo quietly.

Thorin nodded.

 

One day, Bilbo came home from the shop and found that Thorin had made them both tea. Bilbo stared at the djinn, who dropped his head and gestured for Bilbo to sit. Bilbo took a sip, appraised internally it was a bit too hot, the tea leaves scalded as a result. But Bilbo felt overcome anyway, so he set aside his teacup, took Thorin into his arms and kissed him.

It began softly, a simple press of lips, Bilbo enjoying the slight scratch of beard on his chin. The djinn stiffened for only a moment, but then understood like he did everything else. They kissed once, twice, three times, and then Bilbo pulled away and smiled. “Thank you for the tea.”

Thorin, having grown used to being at a loss for words, smiled.

 

When two months passed since Bilbo first rubbed the kettle, Thorin moved officially from the guest bedroom to Bilbo’s bedroom. In large part because there was a new occupant in the guest room.

“Who’s he, Uncle Bilbo?” asked a wide-eyed Frodo. Bilbo had never noticed until now that his nephew - well, cousin rather, but semantics - had blue eyes like Thorin’s. They were a different kind of blue: open and sparkling, unlike the tempestuous nature of his djinn's eyes. Bilbo wondered if Thorin ever looked so young.

“He’s my-“ And Thorin didn’t look up at the pause, but he did hesitate. He was making pasta in the kitchen, rolling out the dough with careful precision until it would be as thin as silk and you could see your hand through it. Bilbo had an open fondness for pasta and Thorin had declared store-bought noodles an abomination. They had come to a compromise (although Bilbo truly lost nothing but table space in the deal).

“His name is Thorin and he lives with me,” Bilbo said. 

“Okay,” said Frodo, who soon lost interest because Bilbo’s great deal of knick-knacks and figurines meant for Frodo a great deal of new toys. Thorin smirked at Bilbo’s exasperated attempts to keep his nephew’s hands off fragile things.

Later that night, when Bilbo was tucked in the crook of Thorin’s arms, he mentioned offhand: “Frodo will have more questions.”

“Mm?”

“He comes from a… traditional household.” At this, Bilbo himself couldn’t keep from chuckling. “Ones without djinns and magical creatures, you see.”

Thorin rumbled with laughter. Bilbo heard its echo in Thorin’s chest cavity, along with the steady beat of a heart that Thorin didn’t really need. “He knows, my dear one.”

Bilbo blinked. “But- how?”

“He suspects, at least. He’s observant and the mind of a child is more open to impossibilities.” Thorin smiled. Then he looked down at Bilbo in his arms. “If he asks what I am, I would tell him the truth.”

Bilbo pondered this. “Alright. And if he asks about us?”

Thorin understood what Bilbo meant. Bilbo had explained that even after 1300 years, people still bothered themselves with what others did in their homes and hearts. Thorin read an intriguing work by a man named Michel Foucault that explained humans police their own sexuality from an early age, making their own bodies forbidden and ergo tantalizing. Bilbo said that that was wonderful, dear, but would he please stop trying to explain this to the scattered malcontents they encountered on the streets. He just wanted to buy his cheese at the farmers’ market in peace.

“I would… tell him the truth as well,” said Thorin, a question in his voice.

Bilbo pondered this and nodded. He closed his eyes and wiggled against Thorin’s broad chest. “Alright. That’s good.”

Silence fell softly upon the pair. Thorin snuffled softly into sleep, but Bilbo remained awake, far too awake. 

“Thorin?” he whispered after what felt like hours.

“Mhmm?” grumbled Thorin.

“Would you marry me?”

A moment passed, then: “I’m actually quite good, thanks.”

Bilbo hit his beloved with a pillow as Thorin nearly rolled off the bed in laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback not only welcome, but encouraged.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [reyiosa](http://reyiosa.tumblr.com/).


End file.
